Leah can't seem to stay away from the up and coming, sexy and brooding artist, Jacob Black, even in the face of being caught by her boyfriend, Edward. Can she resist Jacob's temptation? Written for Smut Monday. AH and rated M for LEMONS and language.

A/N: I was recently given the opportunity to have my very own something special on the renowned Smut Monday. It was nothing less than squee worthy and of course I could only jump at the chance.

Special thanks goes to my newly-wedded ficwife, artbeatsandlife, for staying in my ass every day until I finished this and for the late night beta'g. Also, to my smut sis, Dahlia Black, for helping me think up this little ditty. Hope you all enjoy!

I own nothing besides the ideas my brain conjured for this story and the computer it was created on. All the characters and everything else you recognize are owned by people who have the fat pockets that resulted from their level of genius.

He was right. It was an extraordinary piece.

And not just because he made it. Admittedly, I'd grown a little biased. With each incredible thing his dick did to me, I became more and more affected by his work.

But this was different. Very. And he realized it, too. He'd called me over before the paint had even dried, with it still lying on the floor where he'd created it – the very same floor he'd fucked me on so many times, until I was dry-mouthed and hoarse.

"You've really out done yourself, Jacob."

"I know." I could tell, without looking back at him, that there was no arrogance there. Instead, he sounded surprised at himself, like he'd never guessed what he was capable of, but I did. I never had to wonder if Jake was destined for greatness.

As I stood in the hardly-furnished living room of his seventeenth floor loft apartment, smack in the middle of West Hollywood, I was flooded by memories – not only those of my time in this place and the way he made every fabric of my being feel. Jacob was a master of the shower, kitchen counter top, front door, and couch. He'd taken me in so many ways and places that I couldn't look too hard in any one direction without having some extreme flashback of ecstasy.

We'd only actually had sex in his bed once. In fact, it was the last time we were together. Perhaps that was the sign that things were about to go badly. It was like movie sex, with massaging and kissing. He tasted my neck, nipples, hips, and thighs, while I clung to every part of him that I could reach. We felt like a couple.

I should have known better.

Prohibited sex aside, I was also reminded of how moved I was the first time I saw a Jacob Black original. It was in a small downtown art gallery, and I was intrigued when I'd driven past it, while running late to dinner with Edward and our best friend, Emmett one night. We were supposed to meet his latest soon to be ex-girlfriend, who he called Bell. I didn't think Em could find anyone worse than Lauren, but apparently I'd given him too much credit.

I lost track of how many side-ways glances I'd received from Edward before we'd even finished the appetizers. It took everything in me not to blatantly harass a girl named after a Christmas ornament. Though, I had to give it to her; she wasn't easily thrown. She let nearly all of my shit talking roll right off of her pale, thin back. And, oddly, they did seem really into each other. Not to say that made me dislike her any less. Emmett was good people, and the floosies he fucked and eventually tossed were always beneath him.

Being a relatively well-known art broker, I thought I knew where all of the L.A. galleries were. Evidently, this one was new, and even tinier on the inside than it appeared to be out. It was as if they'd taken one of the coffee shops that didn't survive the Starbucks explosion and had it gutted. They'd even left the previous light fixtures, which did nothing to exhibit the artwork. However, the location was definitely prime. I couldn't exactly blame them for choosing it. They could probably make their lease payments on passerby foot traffic, alone.

The owner's name was Rachel and while she'd acquired the other artwork in her gallery – some nice, others derivative, nothing really remarkable – through traditional means, Jacob's was more personal. He was her brother and he'd made it for her opening. I'd nearly written the little only intended to be trendy art show off when I came upon a painting set directly beneath one of the ceiling lights, on its very own stand. Clearly it was being featured, but leaving it off of the walls just emphasized its unmistakable separation from the rest.

A thick and long-haired, brown-skinned man stood behind a mirroring woman, neither of them clothed. His lips perched upon the arch of her neck while her hair fell over her opposite shoulder, blanketing the breast not held by his broad and sturdy hand. His other was palmed between the crest of her thighs. The two characters displayed were, without a doubt, lost in passion, amid some epic expedition of complete infatuation.

It stopped me in my tracks. It was breathtaking and erotic. The piece was literally sex on a canvas and I secretly prayed that the man whose fingers it had come from was as beautiful as his work.

Ask and you shall receive.

I met Jacob within a few days after that. He was doing freelance photography, because going on location helped inspire his artwork and allowed him plenty of time to paint. He made a decent living, but it was nothing compared to what I could get him if he worked with me for long enough.

And it didn't exactly take long for me to make him a household name among the privileged and elite. Soon, every seven digit or more earner with some hillside property wanted a Jacob Black of their own. And while he wasn't the only artist to put sex in a painting, his pictures were provocative without being porn-like. They aroused from fervor instead of the nudity. With some creative naming and the right spin, I could make anyone understand how much one of his paintings would enhance the atmosphere of the space they placed it in.

Jacob's latest piece was similar to the first I saw-which was my favorite-but was also all together different. A woman lay on her side with one knee hitched over the waist of the same tan man, who was pressed into her. They were set in a black field lit only by a full moon, and the expressions in this painting were more defined than in his prior works. Though his characters were filled with light and vehemence, the entire image seeped of it now. It would be so easy to get this off of the market that it almost wasn't fair to call it work.

"I should have this out of here by the end of the week."

"It's you."

I knew it was, but I didn't know what to say to that. It wasn't the first time Jacob had painted me – us – into his work. But things had changed. I couldn't fall back into that…everything with him.

I told myself that this visit had to strictly be about business. I wouldn't allow myself to come near him if I couldn't find some semblance of self-control. And regardless to how Jacob made me feel, I couldn't live with how I'd feel after.

"I'll send someone over to photograph it today and will reach out to my contacts in the meantime." I rounded in an opposing direction to avoid eye contact. I hoped the steady but unhurried click of my heels against his dark brown hardwoods and their echo off of the floor to ceiling windows and stark white walls highlighted my point.

I was leaving. We weren't going to do this.

"Leah."

Evidently not.

His tone was so… I couldn't even label it, but it made me stop. I swallowed my sigh and my eyes closed, as I reached as far as I could for both the will and the patience to deal with this.

"What is it?"

I hadn't even heard him come closer, but there was no mistaking the feel of his heat sweltering along my back. It was this same heat that drew me to him in the beginning. This was the literal interpretation of someone setting your skin aflame. Jacob, in pure essence, was warmth and sun.

My least favorite part about Jacob's otherwise amazing apartment was its temperature. Between the vast windows and uncarpeted floors, this place felt like it was in desperate need of insulation. On top of that, being the smoldering man that he is, Jake kept this place on ice. He never let the temperature rise above sixty three degrees. So, with all of the time I ended up spending here, mapping out where to send the paintings he'd saved up and discussing which requests we could fill when, I'd learned to either freeze or dress in layers.

He teased me one night when I'd been over all day, had made it through Chinese for dinner, and still hadn't taken off my wool coat. Edward called to tell me I shouldn't wait up. His agency was in jeopardy of losing one of their biggest clients and he was on a deadline. This was the world we lived in; one dictated by which companies kept his in business.

I was past the point of disappointment when receiving those calls. Hell, I'd placed a handful of them on my own. It was just the nature of our life style. No plans were for sure until we were both in attendance.

At first, I couldn't even respond to him through my snickering. I was aware of how ridiculous I looked, but it was either that or pneumonia. "I'll just end up having to trade it for a blanket. It's like below zero in here."

"Seriously? You want me to get you one?"

Realizing that I was there for work, accepting his offer felt like me getting way too comfortable in his home. But I did remove the coat. "No, it's cool. I'm sure I'll survive. But I'm sending you my hospital bills if I end up with frost bite."

"Go for it! You can just deduct the cost from the payments you'll receive for all of my hard work."

We sat on the only rug in the room, with a bottle of wine and our backs against the couch, surrounded by his paintings. We'd long since gotten off of the topic of pictures and imagery, and were reminiscing about music and fashion from the nineties. He guessed that I'd look great in a Kelly Kapowski, thanks to my "mile-long legs", and I broke his heart when I told him I was much more of a Jessie Spano.

That was the thing about Jake. He made me laugh. I felt all the tension leave my joints and limbs after being around him for even a little while. I don't know when I became such a tight ass, but I was glad to see some resemblance of myself from a former life when he was nearby.

I hadn't realized how close we'd gotten until I found myself unbuttoning the top few buttons of my blouse. His arm and leg beside mine was actually making me break out into a sweat. Instead of moving completely away, I scooted down to lie across the rug and face him.

"You're definitely an A.C. Slater." I couldn't possibly give him Zack. His only interests revolved around women and Jacob had far more layers than that. But also, Zack didn't have the body that Jacob did.

Jake had so many dips and curves that you might get motion sickness if you looked too hard. I often found myself curious as to how I didn't stumble upon him naked with more women, or any women for that matter. How could he not be swimming in pussy, far and wide?

He had hair so thick and shiny it probably made chicks jealous, and given his laid back demeanor, it was always down and free-flowing, just over his shoulders. I couldn't even recount the number of times I had to bite back the urge to run my fingers through it and tug, just a little. Throw in the abs modeled after some ancient sculpting, and an overall frame that made him look like a solid structure, built for protection, and I had to consider the very real possibility of registering myself as clinically insane for deciding to work with a man so attractive that being around him was like taking a hit of lust from concentrate.

No, Zack Morris didn't have shit on Jacob Black.

"Of course, you make me the jock."

"What, you want to be Screech?"

He shuffled down too, chuckling as he turned to lean on his oversized arm. I was used to artists being scrawny and limp-like. The combination of Jake's natural largeness and his choice to go for long runs through the city whenever he needed inspiration kept him noticeably well-built.

"A nerd is probably closer to an artist than a meat head is."

"Okay, you win. Screech it is."

"Nah. I'd rather be Slater. At least he got to be with legs." He placed a hand on my thigh and slid his fingers just beneath the hem of my skirt. Nothing in me told me to stop him.

"True, but he could never really handle her."

"Yeah, but I could."

Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the fact that I couldn't remember the last time I'd had sex, or had even gotten a good fuck from my vibrator because I couldn't make time to get some new batteries from the store. Or maybe I'd just reached my limit of seeing Jacob naked.

For the most part, he believed clothes were optional, and he never wore more than a pair of gym pants if he could help it. I'd walked in on him coming out of the shower, once. He never locked his door and I let myself in when he didn't answer my knock. I walked through the door as he was coming out of the bathroom and lifting his pants over his hips, with nothing on underneath. Knowing that he was probably naked besides the pants he wore today just made me want to glue my body to his.

When his fingers climbed further up my thigh and touched the boy cut lace under my skirt, I could only part my legs further. I reached down and cupped my hand over his, pressing him into me. I thought if I didn't feel him inside soon, I might transform into some sort of she-beast.

He sat up and grabbed my top, unbuttoning it with one sharp tug. I looked down, ready to call him a bastard for tearing my Lanvin, but was stunned to find it all in one piece. "Fuck me."

His brow rose and I took that as my last chance to jump ship before he did exactly that. I shook off my shirt and raised him an unsnapped bra to prove I was game. And that was really all it took.

I lost myself in the feel of his hand on my shoulder as he laid me back down. Then, his chest as he climbed on top of me and next his dick when it crushed into my thigh. Finally, all logic and reason, anything that might argue this was reckless or wrong, flew so far out of the window I couldn't see it with a telescope when two of his fingers found their way into my pussy.

It took me a while to get used to Jacob's kiss. His lips were like nothing I'd ever felt before. Even with the urgency of him rubbing my clit, or my clawing at his bare back, he didn't have the need to swallow me whole or meld his lips to mine. Instead, kissing him was like closing your mouth around a marshmallow. Sure, you could over indulge, chew and swallow, but it was way better to let it soften and melt in your mouth. To let the flavor slide over your tongue and ease down your throat. Each touch of his lips was so light that you had to pay attention to appreciate it.

When I felt his third finger, I lost my fucking mind and flipped us both over, climbing on top of him so that I could ride his hand. He lifted me up, like he was palming a ball, and slipped even deeper. It had been too long, way too fucking long, and I was going to cum. Hard.

I couldn't understand what was happening when I started moving forward. With just the strength of his hand beneath me, he pulled me over his face. I clawed the couch in front of me and I clenched everywhere when he moved the lace over enough to place his tongue over my clit.

Then, Jake received a face full of pussy when I came all over him.

While I came down he eased from under me and came up right behind. My panties came down and skirt came all the way up as his fingers made their way back into me.

"You ready?" he asked, double checking that it was okay for him to fuck me.

"Yes… Please!"

Without anymore warning, Jake eased into me, stretching me in such a way I thought I'd torn the couch cushions from my shock over his size. I'd felt him against me but I couldn't have guessed… Exactly everything about this man was huge.

He went slow, and that was perfect because he took some getting used to, but it didn't take long for me to want more. He sat back on his knees and mine spread to either side of him. Looking around us and seeing the unbelievable things this man had created, the same things that had brought us to this point was overwhelming and intense. I wanted him before I knew him and I actually had him now, all over and inside me.

As I sat on his dick, bouncing up and down and feeling my wetness collect between us, he gripped me by the hips, slapping my ass down with each pull. He began lifting off his knees to meet me as I dropped and my whole body began to shake.

"I'm cumming, Jake. God, don't stop." Really, any movement at all would have done it. I was already rolling into it as I spoke. And with a few more thrusts and grunts, I felt him spill into me.

We'd been naked in every corner of this thousand square foot loft, and I'd never forget that first night, when we fucked surrounded by his paintings. I'd started to feel like saying goodbye to Jacob was the hardest thing I'd ever had to, which only made me wonder whether he was tougher to leave than Edward would be.

"What's the rush?" Apparently, he didn't intend to make leaving him any easier.

"I have work to do."

"Right." He could have been saying his typical sure, sure response, like he always did when I dug up excuses to run off.

"Look, Jake, you already know. I have to go." He moved closer, and I could feel his breath along my neck and against the braid down the center of my back.

"But –" I waited for the end of his likely rhetorical question, even though I knew I didn't want to hear it, or better yet, answer it. "That's not what you want."

I was wrong. There was no question in his mind. He was certain.

"Jake…" He placed his hands on my hips, squeezing, and I pleaded with him not to do this.

It took everything in me- literally everything- to stop the first time. I'd made it a full month without seeing him. No slips, no calls, and it had almost gotten to the point where I wasn't talking myself out of giving up the fight to stay away every second of every day.

The first week, after I told him I couldn't see him anymore, we ran into each other on a Saturday morning, in a café downtown. It was bound to happen eventually. The city wasn't that big.

The thing was, I wasn't alone. Edward was with me. Awkward doesn't even begin to describe the situation. And worse, I felt like top that had just been spun. I didn't know which pull to obey: the one to run to Jacob and take it all back, to comfort and reassure him, or the one to stand my ground and be good to Edward, who'd only ever been good to me.

I could see it, plainly, in Jake's face- the grouping of jealousy and hurt. There was the visible comparison and the bare-faced message that I wasn't where he thought I should be. And, even with my long-term live in boyfriend standing right beside me, my whole body ached for Jake.

Of course I'd slept with Edward in the time that things had started with Jacob, and he wasn't the only one comparing. It was impossible not to. I'd never had sex with anyone like I had with Jake, and the thought that I'd never be able to again created a tangible sort of longing. More and more, I had to ask myself if Edward would ever really be enough.

Though, I didn't actually deserve either of them, and neither of them deserved what I was doing. Still, I believed that leaving Edward, after all of the things he didn't even know I'd done to him, would be worse. He loved me and if I was who he wanted, for whatever the reason, I was going to fix things between us.

I was positive that agreeing to meet Jacob would undo everything I'd worked for. But I could never ignore a call from him. And even more, I couldn't pass up seeing a piece of his work that he thought was special.

Jacob was confident. He knew he was good at what he did and he wasn't ashamed of it. However, he was also very humble. He wasn't the typical artist who'd lock himself away so he could focus on his art and then be insulted by anyone who didn't drop to their knees and blow him for his amazingness. He figured, his work meant something to him and it would then have to mean something to someone, somewhere. That was plenty.

He was so much better than his paintings could display.

He stepped in front of me, hands still on my waist, and started walking in my direction, as if there was a gap between us to close. There wasn't, so I stepped back, almost involuntarily. "Seriously, this can't happen. I can't keep doing this."

"You can do anything you want. He doesn't own you."

No, Edward didn't own me and I did consider leaving him once, when I realized letting go of this thing – this affair or whatever – was more difficult than it should be. But, I really did love my boyfriend. We were great together, when either of us made the time for one another. I mean, we'd survived college and the grunt work of climbing our socio-economic latter together. However, lately, it just seemed that the fire between us had blown out, perhaps somewhere between cocktails with colleagues and late nights at work, assuming the spark was all that large in the first place. We looked great on paper, but at the end of the day, I just wasn't sure if there was anything to us beyond the resume.

Still, the idea of being so horrible to someone unworthy of it made me hate myself a little more every time I let Jacob touch me. Every time I begged him to, or screamed his name so loud I thought we'd shatter one of his double paned windows or that the neighbors might call the cops. Every time I began the steps to come back, hoping he'd do and say exactly this, even when I somehow managed to stop myself.

I can't even say I ever would have stopped had I not fucking gotten caught.

It had been a good three months and things had almost become easy. We were getting comfortable, and thus careless. Even with how mixed up things were, my life almost felt fulfilling.

Jake and I were at dinner, discussing work, of course. It wasn't entirely uncommon for me to meet with clients or artists over a meal. We were in a booth in a dark corner and it was so secluded I'd sort of forgotten we weren't actually alone.

We sat close, whispering here and there and sneaking neck kisses like we might be on a real date. My favorite part about these little outings was getting to see him dressed, in any fashion. As delicious as he was just walking around the apartment half naked, seeing him in jeans that framed his ass or in t-shirt stretched to the ends of its threads around the cuts of his shoulders and biceps was enough to make me stop giving a fuck about all ounce of responsibility.

As he continued to stroke my leg beneath the table, I became less interested in food. However, Jake was an eater. I knew it would take something serious to make him leave his ribs and mash.

I glided my hand over the rock in his pants. He grinned but stayed focused. He knew I liked a challenge. My fingers, then, crawled over the denim and to his zipper. I quickly pulled down and snuck beneath both layers that stood between me and the mega dick. A few flicks over his already dripping head and I heard his fork drop into his plate.

He pulled my hand out of his pants, keeping it in his, plopped some cash on the table, and dragged me out of the booth. Laughing and rushing to the door, I ran into a woman so small I couldn't see her without looking down. I saw the look on her face before I could even register who she was.

It was Alice, Edward's younger sister. I was beyond fucked.

She never ratted me out, for God only knows the reason. Perhaps the look on my face was all the guilt and promise she needed to know that I was going to bring things to a halt. Maybe she just couldn't bring herself to hurt her brother that way and hoped I'd own up to my bullshit and tell him myself.

Either way, I thanked whatever luck was pitifully on my side got my life together.

Sort of. Apparently, I was still very, very weak.

"You want to be here. With me." It wasn't as if he let me go so easily the first time, but I could see the determination in his face, and I was finding it more difficult to keep punishing him this way.

"So?"

"So?"

"Yeah, Jake, what am I supposed to fucking do? Walk away from everything? My whole life? I live with him!"

"That never stopped you before." He might have been right, but that shit wasn't going to work on me. I wasn't some whore that he could say anything to.

"Fuck you." I pushed against his chest, finally finding the conviction I needed to get the hell out of the gradually increasingly confining space, but I could have been trying to shove a stack of bricks. "Move so I can go."

"No, Leah. Not this time."

"What don't you understand? We're done. I'm not a cheater."

"Then leave him. Do you think I want to share you? You think any of this shit is okay with me?"

"No. Nothing about this is okay. That's why one of us has to be a grown up and stop it."

"So that's it. You're choosing him over me?"

"No! You know it's not like that."

"Oh? Then what's it like, Leah? What do you fucking want?"

"I don't know…"

"Yeah, well I do."

"And just what the hell is that?"

My shirt was pulled over my body and tossed so quickly I couldn't even think. Then my back hit the glass of the window behind us.

"You want me to fuck you until you scream my name." My bra dropped to floor and his mouth closed around my breast, before he spoke into it. "You want me to go deep, and hard, and slow."

He took my nipple between his teeth and hiked my skirt over my hips. As he rose and looked me in my eyes, he grabbed my knee and pulled me to him until his dick met my soaking wet panties. He eased passed the thin fabric and parted my lips, circling my clit. "…because your pussy only gets this wet for me."

"Dammit, Jake!" And just that easily, I broke, like an already weak sheet of ice. I reached down and shoved his pants to the ground. He slid my thong to the side and thrust himself into me until the one foot I was standing on nearly left the ground. "Fuck."

In just one short month, it seemed like my pussy had shrunk. Apparently, like any muscle, it was only more flexible with use. He filled me so much I felt my lungs expand with the breath I swallowed to take all of him in.

But I loved every stretch-causing inch of him.

It was like I'd been empty all this time. Not just in the emotional sense, but physically. Like my body was lacking without him inside of it. He moved me up and down against the glass, and I glided easily with the sweat that his heat and our effort were creating.

I relaxed fairly quickly and, soon enough, wanted even more of him, as much as I could get. I grabbed at his back, needing to get closer and feel more – anything and everything. He took my other leg in his hand and lifted me up around his waist. I crossed my ankles and felt myself sink further down on him. His hands slid over to my ass and he began pumping me up and down, pulling me onto him harder with each thrust.

He pulled me from the glass, dropped to his knees, and then laid me onto my back. What I felt beneath it was completely unexpected. It was cold, as the floors usually were, but it was also wet and squishy, like some sort of thick sauce.

Then it hit me. "Shit, your painting!"

"It's fine." He pulled my skirt and thong down in one quick motion before climbing back on top of me. "Damn, you smell good." He buried his face in my neck and pushed deep inside of me, swirling his hips.

"But, Jake –"

"Leah, shut up." His lips came down on mine and my whole world shifted into place. Suddenly, I could see so clearly what I'd been missing.

All the shit I'd put us both through. The things I was fighting for and giving up. All of the energy, stress, and pain. It was all for nothing, because he was right. He knew exactly what I wanted and, more, what I needed.

It was definitely him, all along.

The rest was simple.

I took his face in my hands, pulling it away so that he could see me. "Jake."

He stilled and frowned at the expression on my face. "Yeah?"

"You're right…about everything."

"I know."

He came back to kiss me again and I rolled us until we were both on our sides. He pulled my thigh over his hip and we moved against our painting together, just like he had pictured.

We tossed and turned, drenching ourselves. Covered in paint, our hands caressed everything we could reach, as we became the art, and the pallet of rainbows over our skin was more gorgeous than my eyes had ever met before. I guessed that the only person who was ever intended to see his painting had, and that the picture we were painting together now meant more than some water colors on a canvas.

I thought I'd taken control and was doing what was best for everyone, but Jake had one upped me. He'd taken a stand and shown me what my limited vision wouldn't allow. The truth was in the picture and I only needed to open my eyes to see it.

I had art to thank for bringing us together, and it was his art that saved us in the end.

A/N: Please to be sharing your thoughts with me. Thanks!

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